


Four Days

by GreyWardenMorgan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Begging, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Restraints, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-03-04 22:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3092672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWardenMorgan/pseuds/GreyWardenMorgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trevelyan has been gone for four short days, but it feels more like an eternity since she's last seen Cullen. This is their PWP reunion, including some foreplay in the war room and a little tying Cullen to the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Days

Four days. She’s been gone for four days, but it feels more like four months.

She rides into Skyhold and marches to the keep with little more than a passing nod for those who meet her along the way. For all her important obligations, there’s one thing she needs more than the very air she breathes, but another duty stands in the way first.

That’s what brings her here: standing at the war room table giving a report when in truth she wants nothing more than to drag him back to their bedchamber. She calls it _their_ bedchamber but technically it’s his; her quarters are too close to the throne room to allow for proper privacy, so she hasn’t spent a night there in months - not since they fell in love, and shortly thereafter, into bed.

He’s across the room watching her like a predator hunting its prey, light eyes tracking her movements and sizing her up, and the weight of his gaze all but has her writhing. When she lays the collected papers out on the polished wood tabletop, her other advisors lean forward to examine the documents, but not him. She watches him run his tongue over his top lip obscenely - one of her favourite things, and he bloody well knows it, a promise of what’s to come when they’re finished here. She swallows a little sound of arousal, feels her cheeks flush and her sex pulse in anticipation. Must look a right fucking mess, if that smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth is any indication.

She belatedly realises someone is speaking to her and stumbles through an apology, blaming fatigue. These women are too smart by half to swallow such an transparent lie but they’re also too polite to point out the truth, so they excuse themselves under the guise of allowing her to rest. He makes his way around the table slowly as the others leave the room, skimming his gloved fingertips along the surface as he goes. “Inquisitor,” he purrs once everyone else has left the room. “Welcome back.” She’s always loved his voice, hanging on every word from the moment they met and later, fantasising about the kinds of sounds he would make in bed. Hearing him speak now makes the heat pooling low in her belly flare hot and bright.

She doesn’t bother to stutter through a response, instead seizing him by the front of his jacket and pulling him against her. Their mouths meet with a brief click of teeth before his tongue, that clever tongue, slides past her lips. She winds one arm around his neck and buries her fingers in his thick blonde hair, tugging gently at the strands while he kisses her breathless. He’s walking her backward now, toward the table - that is, until they’re interrupted by a young soldier. The lad makes the unfortunate mistake of reading a report, one apparently so engrossing that he fails to check the room before he walks in. “Commander, I have-”

Her lover breaks the kiss long enough to turn around and snarl, “GET OUT,” and the boy blanches and scrambles away in a rush of embarrassed apologies, pulling the doors shut behind him. She starts to laugh but he covers her mouth with his again, sweeping his tongue against hers and the giggle turns into a moan. 

When the small of her back contacts the table, he halts his advance and places searing kisses down the line of her throat while snaking one hand down her body. When he reaches her thigh, he grabs a handful of robes and hikes the garment up, exposing her legs to the cool air. A few more tugs and she’s bared to her hips with nothing but her small clothes preserving her modesty. He’s managed to remove his gloves somewhere along the way and she shudders when he presses his fingers to the cloth between her thighs. It’s already damp with her arousal and he makes a low noise of satisfaction in his chest.

His kisses are slower and deeper now as he eases her small clothes down her legs until they hang haphazardly around one ankle. Coaxing her legs apart, he slips his fingertips through her in earnest and rubs gentle circles around her most sensitive spots. She’s trying to stifle herself but she knows how much he relishes every gasp, every moan, every stuttered plea for more and soon the attempts at discretion are abandoned. He reads her body like a map, always knowing just where to push and press, winding her up with astonishing ease. He can see that she’s close and he wraps his other arm around her waist and holds her tightly while she grabs at the front of his shirt. When she explodes a few seconds later, he works her through the waves with those nimble fingers, over the crest and beyond, until she relaxes and drops her forehead against his shoulder, panting.

He chuckles to himself, a deep, rough laugh she equates with release because it’s a sound he only makes after he’s just watched her come undone. She reaches down to remove his belt but he catches her forearm and directs her away. Her whine of protest cuts off abruptly when he grabs her arse and lifts her onto the table. He opens her legs and goes to his knees before her. Her eyes meet his for a moment and she sees the usual green ring of colour has been virtually devoured by dark pupils, all lust and desire, and she’s fucking drunk on how gorgeous he looks right now.

He leans forward and there’s a press of soft lips to her centre, almost a reverent kiss, and she lets out a gentle sigh of affection. He does it again, and again - but the third time there’s a hint of tongue, just a tease before his mouth retreats once more. “Y-yes, love,” she chokes out, and he seems only too eager to please, running his tongue through her slit in one smooth motion. Her body tenses and her back arches, and he reaches up to brace one hand against the inside of her thigh so she doesn’t inadvertently restrict his movement with her clenching. He’s ferociously good at this, thrusting his tongue into her and then traveling up to lap and suck that little pearl of nerves until she squeals. It takes her longer to climb her peak this time but he’s relentless in his pursuit of it, now using broad, flat strokes from top to bottom, now employing more pointed attention, and he lets out a passionate grunt against her flesh when she winds a hand into his hair and guides him where she wants him.

When her breath begins to stutter and her coherent praise falls into broken moans, he dips two fingers into her heat and curls them toward her belly, _give it to me, sweetheart_. Her hips rock in time with his tongue and she gasps his name in those last seconds of clarity. This climax goes on longer than the last, spiralling out and on until she fears she might fracture into a thousand pieces from the force of it. When it finally recedes, she watches him kiss down her thigh and rock back on his heels, eventually wiping evidence of her orgasm from his face with the back of his forearm and looking so fucking pleased with himself.

She shimmies forward and drops from the table before smoothing her robes back down her legs. He rises to his feet with a confused frown colouring his features until she takes her small clothes from the floor and presses them into his jacket pocket. She leans in close and ghosts her lips over the little hollow below his ear before whispering, “Bedroom.” He pulls back and gives her an amused look, then offers his arm and together they exit the war room. 

They pass a few knowing smirks along the way but she couldn’t care less. He’s all hers, and she’s all his, and if she’s being honest she rather enjoys these less-than-subtle broadcasts of their affection for the whole world to see. 

Ever chivalrous, he holds open the door to his chambers and allows her to enter before securing the the latch behind them. When he moves to encircle her with his arms, she whips around and slaps at his hand. “Ah ah,” she scolds. “You touch when I say you touch,” and she allows a hard edge to find its way into her voice, “and you move when I say you move, and you finish when I say you finish.” His spine straightens a bit and she catches a glint of heat in his eyes. Learning of his predilection for being at her mercy has been most advantageous for her, particularly since he’s figured out half a hundred ways to fire her up in an instant and she’s struggling to find reciprocity. She strides to the bed and sits on the edge to fix him with a greedy stare. “Undress,” she directs in a concise tone.

“Everything?” His tenor is light as he starts to unbuckle the bracer on his left wrist, but he’s not fooling anyone. She can see his arousal straining against the front of his trousers, tenting the fabric shamelessly. 

A non-committal hum is all the reply he receives, and he smiles a bit and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. He makes a slow and deliberate show of removing each piece of armour, shrugging out of his jacket, stepping from his boots. When he pulls his shirt over his head, she can’t help the little sound that escapes her. He removes his belt and doubles it up, striking the leather against his palm with a smart crack. The sound raises goosebumps over her skin and sends a pulse of want through her body. The article in question is held up in offering but she shakes her head after a moment’s hesitation. “Later,” she promises softly and he inclines his head in acquiescence as he sets the belt on the table.

His hands drift to the waist of his trousers and he loosens the lacing, all the while watching her reactions closely. It’s precise and measured, each movement, and he’s drawing out the tease for as long as she will permit. When the fabric slides down his legs and puddles on the floor, he steps out of the pile and straightens up to face her. Her gaze wanders over his skin, the curve of his arm, the line of his hip, finally stopping at his cock, jutting out proud and hard and perfect. It takes a few deep breaths for her to marshal her desire, but she manages it and drags her eyes up to his face. She means to say, “You are the sexiest, most divine man in the whole of the world,” but all that comes out of her mouth is, “ _Fuck._ ”

“Absolutely,” he says in a low voice, and she give him a sly smile. She crooks a finger at him and he crosses the room in a few long paces. He allows her to pull him to the mattress and press him onto his back in the middle of the bed. Lifting up her robes, she straddles his hips but hovers above him, denying him any intimate contact. She locks her long fingers around his wrists and pins them to the bed above his head. He quirks an eyebrow and she feels his muscles flex as he tests her grip. 

“Do I need to restrain you properly?” she asks with a warning tone. He flexes again and her arms tighten in an effort to keep him pinned, and he gives her a smile that’s all challenge. “So this is how it’s going to be, hm?” 

Still looking playfully dangerous, he rolls one shoulder in a half shrug. She releases him and there’s a flash of disappointment until he sees her unwinding the silk brocade sash from about her waist. He presses his hands together and holds them out to her, eager and obedient, and he shivers while she loops the cloth around his wrists. She secures the free end to the bedpost and tugs at the knots to check their strength, testing and tightening until she’s satisfied that he can’t pull free without her permission. She almost hates doing it - his hands are absolutely gorgeous and more skilled than any woman could hope for - but there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

When she eases back into his lap, he lets out a small groan at her touch and thrusts his hips, sliding through her sex. The feeling very nearly crushes her restraint and it takes an obscene amount of willpower to lift herself from him. “You’re not to move, remember?” she whispers. Her fingers drift to the clasps holding her robes closed and she notices his eyes tracking every moment. One clasp, then a second, then a third, and before long she can shrug out of the garment and toss it to the floor. They’re skin on skin now, nothing between, nothing keeping them apart but her control. “Say you understand.”

When he doesn’t respond, she snakes a hand between then and wraps it around his cock, giving him one firm, lazy stroke. His eyes flutter closed for a moment and the air in his lungs rushes out in a desperate moan that sounds a bit like her name. “Say it,” she repeats. Again, he hesitates, and again, she slides her hand down to the base and up, agonisingly slowly, squeezing the head lightly when she reaches the tip.

“I-I-I understand,” he stammers.

She feathers light kisses down the line of his jaw until she reaches his ear. “Good boy,” she purrs. “But I’m afraid you still need to be punished for breaking the rules in the first place.” When she shifts her weight and lays on the bed beside him, his head snaps over to gape at her with incredulity. She smiles innocently and eases onto her back, spreading her legs and using the hand she’d just stroked him with to part her satin folds. She works two fingers over and around her clit, first with gentle motions but then growing more direct as she winds herself back up. She can feel the heat of his body beside her, hear the quiet sounds of frustrated arousal he makes every now and again. Soon, all of her focus is reduced to a fine point, the shocks of pleasure that radiate out from where her fingertips work feverishly now.

The bed frame suddenly creaks and the noise catches her attention. Her hand stills and after a few breaths she turns to look at him. He’s all flexed arms and white-knuckled fists as he pulls at the restraint, eager to touch - though whether her or himself, she’s not sure. Eyes dark and hair mussed, cheeks flushed and lips parted, cock heavy and twitching against his belly; the man is sex made flesh and she’s never wanted anything more than she wants to fuck him right now. “Seeing you like this makes me want to do very, very bad things to you,” she confesses. She rolls onto her side and skims her fingers up the centre of his chest. “Do you want me?” She’s pleased with how even her voice sounds.

He nods vigorously before choking out, “Yes, yes.”

She pushes up from the bed and climbs back onto him, taking his cock in hand and rubbing him against her sex. He groans but his hips stay still, though she can see his jaw is tight with the effort to remain motionless. When his heated flesh slides over her clit, a shiver races up her back. “Do you want to be inside of me?” she asks, this time breathless.

“Fuck,” he growls, which she takes as an affirmative response. 

She leans forward and puts them nose to nose while she strokes him, coating his erection in her slick arousal while she lines him up. He lifts his chin to kiss her as she sinks down onto him and she moans into his mouth. He deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue over hers and swallowing the sounds she makes while she takes him in, inch by inch. The moment their bodies meet and he’s pressed deep within her, an unanticipated orgasm rips through her body. Delicious pressure and heat snake through her every vein as she clenches around his cock, rolling her hips to draw out the sensations until she collapses against him, gasping.

The dark laugh rumbles through his chest again. “That was fucking beautiful,” he murmurs into her ear. His voice is rough, low, all raw desire and lust, and she captures his mouth in a hungry kiss to show him what the sound is doing to her.

Without preamble, she lifts her hips and slides down, slow and tight, and it tears the most incredible groan from his throat. She braces her hands on his chest and rides him, sometimes teasing around the head and sometimes impaling herself on him with hard, heavy strokes. The drag of him within her, the way he stretches her open, the flare of sensation when he bottoms out deep inside her - she’s never felt anything like him, as if he’d been made solely for her pleasure. His eyes move from her face to her breasts to the place where his cock disappears inside of her, his breathing becoming more laboured. Again he lifts his arms and pulls against the sash, and she hears a hiss of frustration from between his teeth. “You want to touch me,” she breathes, still rocking in his lap.

He lets out a desperate sort of whimper and tugs at the bonds more forcefully. She flexes her inner muscles as she takes him deep again, holding still from there and leaning forward to look directly into his face when she speaks. There’s just one simple word, one requirement if he wishes to be released.

“Beg,” she demands. She loves making him beg. The first time he did it, breathless and desperate, _please please please please_ , it awoke something primal and deeply possessive in her. Now she can’t get enough of it.

Some nights, he complies immediately. He pleads and he pants and he says all the right things. She tells him what a good boy he is, rolls her hips the way he likes and leads him into oblivion with her body. Other nights, he holds out, defiant. Oh, he’ll talk, alright - all the filthy things he’s going to do to her, promising to fuck her until she can’t see straight, detailing every way he’s going to touch her and taste her and tease her - but he refuses to say those magic words. He makes her _work_ for it, makes her drag it out of him. It often earns him a slap, though how hard and where the blow lands varies based on how vulgar he is. 

She’s unsure which he’ll give her tonight, and she watches his reaction closely after she presents her terms. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, keeping his eyes locked on hers. The desire to start fucking him again is winning out and just as she’s considering abandoning the whole game, he gives in.

“Please,” he says in barely more than a whisper.

She arches an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that,” she drawls. She tips forward more so she can brush her nipples over his chest, and draws a sharp breath at the sensation of his smooth skin against the stiffened peaks.

His voice breaks a bit when he stumbles through the next part. “Please, please let me touch you, please.”

The ache to feel him moving within her again is too much to ignore so she sits up and resumes the slow grind she was enjoying before. She wants more from him, _needs_ more from him. “You want to grab my tits?” He groans, a string of wordless sounds that might be _yes_ and _please_. “Want to squeeze my ass and pull me down against you?” She’s not even waiting for a response now, lost in the tempo of her hips and the way he’s filling her. “Do you want to drive up into my cunt and spill yourself deep inside of me?”

That does it. “Fuck, yes, please,” he begs. “Please, love, please please please…” She reaches up and makes two quick pulls of the sash, and it falls away. For a split second, he looks confounded at how quickly he’s been liberated, but his hands fly to her hips an instant later. He braces her for a moment before thrusting up, pushing against her depths in ways she couldn’t achieve on her own, and she nearly crumples in on herself the sensation is so euphoric. He repeats the motion again and again, keeping a languid pace and watching her with hooded eyes while his fingers grip her like a vice, holding her in place while he takes her.

That pressure in her core is building at an alarming rate and she grabs his forearms to find purchase. “Are you ready?” she manages, each word punctuated by another stroke. There’s a quick, sharp nod. She smiles, purring “Come along then.”

He wraps one arm around her waist and pulls her flush against him, and with his free hand he palms her arse, kneading and squeezing the flesh. He wastes no time in driving into her with a brutal pace that makes stars erupt behind her eyes. She frees one arm so she can brace a palm on the headboard and push back into his thrusts, try to counter some of the vicious force that will otherwise send them sliding up the bed. The sound of his skin slapping against hers is only just audible over her moans, which grow louder and higher as she nears her end. He must be close too, if his ragged breath against her neck is any indication. She tries to tell him she’s almost there but she can’t manage to make her brain work, and in the end it’s not truly necessary since he can feel it in the way she’s gripping his cock. “Please,” he pants. “Please cum for me, please please please, love, that’s it…”

That’s what tips her over the edge and her pleasure rips her apart at the seams, shaking her to her very foundations. She calls his name over and over, and his thrusts become even more frenzied while she writhes above him. There’s one more hard push and he finally follows, groaning and swearing and bucking into her. She feels it all, feels the hard, hot length of him pulsing and the rush of wetness from their combined climaxes. His hips slow, then stop, and they lay there together in a heap of sweaty limbs and heavy breathing and racing hearts.

After a few minutes, she lifts herself from him and they both whimper as their bodies separate. She flops onto the bed beside him and he rolls over, gathering her in his arms and pressing soft kisses to her forehead. The fatigue of her travel washes over her like a tidal wave and she tries unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn, and the resulting awkward facial expressions cause him to laugh warmly. “I wore you out,” he murmurs. 

She lifts her chin and brushes her lips over his. “I might need a little break, but I’m not finished with you yet.”

“Ooh,” he says softly. “What luck, because I’m not finished with you, either.” She feels him sit up slightly and reach down, and a moment later a sheet is pulled up over them. She snuggles in tighter and he rests his chin on the top of her head. “I love you,” he whispers. Her reply is slurred and sleepy but he can make it out anyway, _I love you, too_ , and like that, she’s out. He strokes up and down her spine with light hands as he drifts off, content as any man could ever be.


End file.
